Cold Feet
by nanniships
Summary: I had this prompt floating around and it gave me Baxley feels while my home internet was down. "Person A and Person B are getting married, but person B get's cold feet, and person A has to talk them down." I tried to make it potentially canon; not so sure if that worked.


Cold Feet

At the best of times, Mr. Molesley could be somewhat…fidgety. Not that he climbed the walls, or anything of the sort. He simply had a great deal of nervous energy which, when not focused on a task, tended to take his mind in all sorts of directions.

So Mrs. Carson was not surprised to find him, two days before his wedding, wearing a rut in the flagstones of the servant's hall as he paced and fretted. She'd tried to be patient, remembering her own anxious moments before finally - finally!- marrying Mr. Carson. But things were quite at sixes and sevens in the house, and a little less of the pre-nuptial jitters wouldn't go amiss.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Molesley?" she asked when he startled at the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, only to slump and stare at the floor when Madge appeared around the corner.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine, Mrs. Carson," he replied, trying to smile and only producing a worried grimace.

"You'll have to do better than that, Mr. Molesley, if you wish to convince anyone," she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

His attention was distracted again by footsteps in the corridor, and he stared intently at the doorway until a housemaid walked past it, giving him an odd look.

Mrs. Carson cleared her throat and he turned around to face her again. The look on her face was less indulgent.

"Ah..well," he stammered. "I can't seem to find Phyl…I mean Miss Baxter."

Mrs. Carson wrinkled her brow. Come to think on it, Miss Baxter hadn't been at breakfast and she couldn't remember seeing her in the servant's hall all morning.

"I'm sure she's fine," she informed him soothingly. "Her Ladyship's bells have been answered, so most likely she's been busy upstairs."

"But she's not upstairs…" he began, only to stop when Mrs. Carson's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I mean…not that I've been up there. But none of the maids have seen her…or Mrs. Bates…."

Mrs. Carson sighed. "Then perhaps she's in the attics looking out something for Her Ladyship, Mr. Molesley. Whatever has gotten you so concerned?"

"Um…well, she were very quiet last night, didn't want to talk - didn't even want me to read to her, like I usually do. I'm worried she might not be well."

Mrs. Carson doubted that was the case, but she was of a mind to make sure, if for no other reason than to put Mr. Molesley's mind at ease. She was about to tell him that she'd check Miss Baxter's room when Anna Bates walked into the servant's hall with her arms full of frock.

"Any sign of Phyl…Miss Baxter, Mrs. Bates?" he asked immediately.

Anna didn't try to hide her smile at his slip. "I haven't seen her, Mr. Molesley. Has she still not come down?"

He shook his head. Before he could say anything, Mr. Carson's demanding bass was calling his name impatiently. He threw the women a pleading look before reluctantly answering the summons.

"I was a bit _nervous_ before marrying Mr. Bates," Anna said, watching him go, "but I can't remember being _this_ worked up."

"I am starting to wonder if Miss Baxter is unwell," Mrs. Carson mused. "I should probably go and check on her, to be certain."

"I could go," Anna offered. "There's no great hurry on these things." She smiled a bit mischievously. "I'd be delighted to help put Mr. Molesley's mind at ease before he does himself an injury."

"Would you, Anna? Thank you. I've got a bit too much to do today to cosset Mr. Molesley. But it would set my mind at ease as well to know Miss Baxter hasn't taken ill."

"Two days before she gets married…I certainly hope not," Anna replied. "I'll go up directly and see if she's in her room."

* * *

Miss Baxter was indeed in her room, sitting on her bed and staring at the wall. Lost in her thoughts, she startled and gasped at the quiet knock on her door.

"Miss Baxter? Are you in there?" Anna's voice asked faintly.

For a moment, Miss Baxter contemplated not answering at all. But if Anna was up in the servant's quarters looking for her, that meant she'd been missed. Continuing to hide would only bring down trouble. And she had quite enough trouble to be going on with already.

"Just a moment," she answered, just above a whisper. She repeated herself a little louder as she tried to release the grip her hands had on each other in her lap. Standing up, she wobbled a bit as she began to make her way to the door. Anna opened it and poked her head in.

To her discerning eye, Miss Baxter looked distressed. "Mrs. Carson sent me to see if you were ill, Miss Baxter."

"I'm not ill," Miss Baxter tried to assure her. "Have I missed a bell?"

"If you had, you'd have heard about it directly from Mrs. Carson," she answered with a smile. "You don't look well," she continued, looking the other woman over appraisingly. "Are you certain you're not ill?"

"No…no," Miss Baxter tried to smile reassuringly. Her effort was no more successful than Mr. Molesley's had been earlier, and she could see that Anna wasn't fooled.

"Mr. Molesley will be relieved. But it's not like you to be off in your room in the middle of the morning." Anna watched her eyes drop at the mention of Mr. Molesley. "Is there something else the matter?" she asked gently.

"I don't wish to worry Joe…Mr. Molesley," Miss Baxter replied, biting her lip and looking uncertain.

"That's all well and good," Anna said, motioning for Miss Baxter to sit, "but it's you who looks worried right now. Is there anything I can do?"

Miss Baxter sat back down on the edge of her bed and looked at the floor. "I don't think so," she said softly.

"Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Miss Baxter looked at Anna's sympathetic eyes and had to fight back tears. "I don't think I can marry J-…Mr. Molesley," she admitted.

Anna was shocked for a moment. It never would have occurred to her that, of the two of them, Miss Baxter would be the one to get cold feet. She was tempted to make a light hearted comment about pre-wedding jitters, but the miserable expression on Miss Baxter' face stopped her.

"Why ever not?" she asked quietly.

"Because I'm not…he…"

Anna waited patiently as Miss Baxter trailed off. There was clearly something important on her mind that she couldn't bring herself to share. Not wanting to press her about something that might not be her business, Anna settled for patting her lightly on the shoulder.

"Perhaps you and Mr. Molesley should have a little talk, hmm?" she suggested. "Maybe Mr. Carson can spare him for a short while this afternoon and you can take a walk."

"We do need to talk," Miss Baxter agreed in a sad voice. "I can't just…just leave him hanging."

"That's settled then," Anna said brightly, heading for the door. "If anyone asks, I'll tell them you'll be down soon."

Miss Baxter nodded and Anna exited the room. She exhaled a sigh of relief as she descended the stairs that the whole awkward matter would soon be over, and her role in it was done.

However, no sooner was she down the stairs than a very concerned Mr. Molesley popped his head out of the silver pantry, polishing cloth in one hand and candlestick gripped tightly in the other.

"Mrs. Bates," he hissed, "is she…is she ill?"

"No, Mr. Molesley. She's…er…I believe she needed some time to think. She said she'd be down soo—"

"To think?" he interrupted. "About what?"

"That's for her to say, Mr. Molesley," she replied.

"Well, it must be important," he mused, absently scratching the side of his head with the corner of the candlestick. "As long as she's not getting cold feet," he finished in a joking tone.

Anna bit her lip and tried to school her features so as to not give anything away. Mr. Molesley peered at her in concern.

"Anna…" He grimaced and corrected himself: "Mrs. Bates…that's not it, is it?"

"I think you'd best talk to her, Mr. Molesley. It's really not my place…"

"Of course…or course…" He trust the candlestick and polishing cloth abruptly into Anna's hands. "I'll just go talk to her now."

"Mr. Molesley! She's in her room! You can't go…"

But Mr. Molesley had already started quickly up the stairs. Anna stared after him, then looked at the candlestick and cloth in her hands in consternation. With a sigh, she briskly walked into the silver pantry and placed them on the table. Then she went to find Mrs. Carson. Not three steps around the corner towards the housekeeper's parlor, she very nearly ran into Mr. Carson.

"Sorry, Mr. Carson," she gasped, "I'm just…" She waved her arm in the general direction of the stairs.

"Quite all right," he rumbled. "I wasn't paying attention. We've a…situation in the Drawing Room that requires Mr. Molesley's attention."

"Oh! Well…I believe he's not in the silver pantry anymore," she stammered.

"Do you happen to know where's gone, then?" he asked in a long suffering voice.

"Upstairs, I think," she replied vaguely.

Mr. Carson gave an irritated grunt and thanked her. Anna blew out a heavy sigh of relief and went straight away to try to find Mrs. Carson before things could take an even more difficult turn.

* * *

Any other time, the impropriety of pounding up the stairs leading to the women's side of the attics would have rendered Mr. Molesley incapable of putting one foot in front of the other. His concern and confusion carried him up the stairs with only slight stumbles, and he found himself wheezing slightly at the top.

Clutching his side and trying to draw deep breaths, he stood at the end of the corridor with no idea which room was Phyllis'. Suddenly nervous, he slipped quietly along the corridor, scanning the name plates on the doors anxiously. When he arrived at Phyllis' door, he stood for a moment, dry mouthed and trembling slightly. But his arm was steady as he reached out to rap on the door.

Phyllis was fixing her hair at the tiny mirror on the wall when she heard the tentative knock.

"Surely that isn't Anna back," she murmured to herself. Hoping it wasn't Mrs. Carson, she carefully opened the door, holding back the hair she hadn't yet managed to secure with her free hand. When the door swung open to reveal Joseph Molesley's anxious face, she clapped her hand over her mouth to cover her surprised noise, allowing her hair to fall in an unruly flood around her face.

"Joseph," she whispered, looking frantically up and down the corridor. "You can't be here!"

"Then you'd better let me in before I get caught, he suggested, momentarily distracted at the sight of her with half her hair down.

She grasped the lapels of his livery and pulled him inside, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as she could.

"Are you mad?" she hissed. "You could get sacked for this."

"We're getting married in two days," he argued. "Even Mr. Carson wouldn't sack me. Tear strips off me, yes…but not sack me." As she dropped her eyes from his, he swallowed hard. "We _are_ still getting married in two days, aren't we?"

"Why are you taking a chance like this?" she demanded, ignoring his question.

"Because I'm worried about you. Something's bothering you, Phyllis. You wouldn't tell me what it was yesterday, and it's still bothering you." He reached out to carefully take her hands in his, relieved that she didn't pull away.

"Now isn't a good time to talk, Mr. Molesley," she said nervously, giving his hands a quick squeeze and turning back to the mirror to continue putting her hair up.

"It's as good a time as any, seeing as how I'm already here." Without thinking, he sat on her bed and watched her, fascinated, as she reassembled her elaborate knot. An unconscious smile crossed his face as it occurred to him that soon he would be able to watch her put it up and take it down everyday.

With her hair back in place, Phyllis felt a little more steady. Although, when she glanced over to see him sitting on her bed, watching her every move with such a loving smile on his face, her resolve wavered dangerously. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"Very well then," she said quietly. "As you want to know. I…I don't think we should get married, Mr. Molesley."

She bit her lip and watched as a myriad of emotions crossed his face. He couldn't seem to decide if he was shocked, hurt, angry, or simply bewildered.

"What?" he finally replied weakly. "Why? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything, Jo—…Mr. Moleley."

"I must have done," he protested. "You're not even calling me by my given name. And after four months of engagement, in the space of a day, you've decided you don't want to marry me!"

"It isn't anything you've done—"

"It's just me then," he interrupted. Ignoring the shake of her head, he went on, staring at the floor. "I guess that means you've come to your senses."

"What?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"I never understood why you'd want to be with a man like me. Still a footman at my age, with no prospects and a head full of ambitions that I'll never achieve. I've never had anything to offer you, and I'm sorry…"

"Stop this," she ordered, sitting down next to him on the bed. "You know I don't like hearing you speak of yourself this way, because it's not true."

"It must be."

"It's not," she said firmly. "You're a fine and wonderful man, Joseph Molesley. You've everything to offer and nothing to be sorry for."

The look he gave her was so utterly confused that she wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him. She settled for taking his hand.

"I need you to believe me, Joseph. I've never known a better, more generous and forgiving man than you."

"I'm not all that—"

"You are to me," she interrupted, giving him a stern look.

"Then…why, Phyllis? Why won't you marry me? What's _changed_?"

"I've just been made aware of how selfish I'm being, and how it wouldn't be right…it wouldn't be fair to you, to marry you."

"I don't understand," he muttered miserably, trying to meet her eyes.

Phyllis stared at their joined hands on the bed between them and blinked away the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"I was in the village yesterday, at the post office," she began in a shaky voice, "and I overheard something."

He nodded encouragingly at her to continue, although for a moment he was dreading to know what sort of conversation she'd overheard. Any of the old village biddies likely had a multitude of stories about him making a fool of himself.

"One of them mentioned that 'young Joseph Molesley certainly took his time settling down,' and another said something about so many eligible women in the area and he goes and chooses some woman from God knows where…"

Joseph rolled his eyes. In his opinion, the village wasn't exactly overrun with 'eligible' women. He opened his mouth to say so, but Phyllis went on, with a catch in her voice.

"I'm sure they didn't know I was standing there. They…they began talking about how no one knew me in the village and…and one of them made a comment about how there's always scandal up at the Abbey and maybe…maybe I…"

"They're a flock of cackling hens, Phyllis," he assured her. "They don't know anything and they're just being spiteful old—"

"It wouldn't take much for them to find out, Joseph. And the truth is even worse than they could imagine."

"Phyllis, I don't care—"

"But you should, Joseph. If you marry me, all my past, all my sins and mistakes become yours. I was so happy at the thought of marrying you that…I allowed myself to forget that." She let go of his hand and stared at the wall.

They sat in silence as Joseph struggled to find words. Finally, he stood up and moved towards the door. Phyllis shut her eyes tightly and willed herself not to cry until he'd left. She waited for the sound of the door closing, only to cringe as the legs of the one chair in the room were dragged across the bare boards of the floor. She opened her eyes in confusion to see Joseph arranging the chair in front of her and sitting down on it.

"As lovely as the side of your head is," he said conversationally, "I'd like to be able to see all your face." He reached out and took her unresisting hand in his again.

"I talked to Dad about this, you know," he went on. Phyllis startled and her eyes widened in surprise. Mr. Molesley the elder had been gruff, but kind, when she'd met him, and over the last few months, he'd seemed very welcoming, offering them a place to live in his cottage when no offer of a cottage on the estate was forthcoming.

"You..you did?"

"I did. Of course, I just went to him for some advice on how to ask you to marry me and, well, the conversation took a turn…"

"A turn?"

Joe cleared his throat as a flush began to creep up the back of his neck. "Ah…several turns. But he wanted to know more about you, so I well…"

"Yes, " she agreed quietly. "Of course he ought to know what kind of person his son wanted to marry."

"I hadn't intended to tell him; it's your story to tell. But I kept going on and on about you and why I love you, the story just sort of…came out in it all."

He looked at her apologetically, like he was expecting her to be angry. But she just gave him a sad little smile.

"So he asked what I'd do if I was sacked for marrying you; or, if everything came out and the whole village came to know it all. Then he…he…well, he shook his finger in my face like I was still a lad." Joseph grinned at the memory. "And he told me to make very sure I was ready to be a good husband, because if I love you enough to ask you to marry me, then I should love you enough to take on any challenges that come of it."

"He said that?"

"Several times…so as to make sure I was listening. He nearly put me eye out with that finger."

Phyllis laughed and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. She drew in a breath as he lifted her hand up to his lips.

"I don't know if I'll be a good husband, Phyllis, but I'll try with everything I've got."

"They will find out, Joseph. Nothing stays hidden forever. If it becomes a village scandal, Her Ladyship would have good cause to sack me. Then where would we be?"

"We'd be together, if you'll have me."

"I've already said I would," she replied with a little smile.

"Then we _are_ getting married in two days?"

Phyllis reached up and took his face in her hands. As their lips touched, Joseph ran his hands into her hair, sending her carefully placed hairpins falling to the floor.

Neither noticed.

* * *

"Well, at least she's not ill," Mrs. Carson commented. "A good chat with Mr. Molelsey should make things right. I'll see that they get a few moments this afternoon, although Mr. Carson is already none too happy with the man…"

"Yes….well, I shouldn't think they'll need any time together this afternoon…" Anna replied, wringing her hands in agitation.

Mrs. Carson gave her a dubious look, but before she could ask, Mr. Carson stuck his head through the door with a face like thunder.

"I cannot lay hands on Mr. Molelsey _anywhere_, Mrs. Carson. I don't care if the man is getting married in two days! Is he employed here or not? He didn't even finish the silver!"

Mrs. Carson looked at him with mild frustration, then looked at Anna, who wouldn't meet her eye.

"I'm sure he's about, Mr. Carson. If I find him, should I send him up to the dining room?"

"That would be _most_ helpful," he growled, and strode away to vent his frustration on a set of inappropriately laid silverware.

"Anna…where, exactly, was Mr. Molesley the last time you saw him?"

"Heading up the stairs to the women's quarters as fast as he could pelt," she admitted.

"Oh my Lord…"

* * *

The door to Phyllis Baxter's room swung open and Joseph Molesley backed reluctantly out of it, not releasing her hands.

"I'll see you downstairs," he whispered. "Perhaps we can find some time for a walk later?"

He gently moved her hair back out of her face, and she pulled him back towards her by his lapels. So absorbed were they in each other, neither bothered to check if the coast was clear. After one last kiss, she smiled as she shut the door gently in his face. He stood, smiling at the closed door for a moment, then sighed, adjusted his tie and turned around to find himself face to face with a highly perturbed housekeeper.

"Are you lost, Mr. Molesley?"

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head. He stammered something meant to be a polite negative, but judging by Mrs. Carson's expression, was closer akin to pure gibberish. She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Ah…I was…we were just… um, Phyll—, I mean Miss Baxter needed to talk things over a bit…" His voice ran out as Mrs. Carson's expression didn't change. "Just a bit of cold feet, is all. But we've got it sorted."

"Thought you'd come up to her bedroom and warm them, did you?" she inquired with deceptive casualness.

He felt his stomach fall to his toes. "Oh no no…nothing like…like anything like that…sort of thing…"

"Please stop babbling, Mr. Molelsey. You're not at all convincing."

"But…but…"

"You have five minutes to make your presence known to Mr. Carson in the dining room. I suggest you spend most of them coming up with an explanation for your absence…one that you can manage to say without blathering."

Mr. Molesley nodded frantically and rushed towards the stairs. At the top, he paused and looked back.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carson!"

She glared at him and flapped an impatient hand towards the stairs. Phyllis' door creaked open, and she slipped out, her hair returned to an acceptably professional standard.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carson," she echoed.

"You're welcome, Miss Baxter," she said, turning to go. Then she turned back. "_Are_ things…sorted?"

"They are," she replied with a shy smile. "I never should have worried."

"Cold feet aren't unusual before you take a step like marriage, Miss Baxter. Always best to be sure."

"I'm sure now," she said, slipping past Mrs. Carson and heading down the stairs.

"I certainly hope so," Mrs. Carson muttered, shaking her head and giving Miss Baxter's door a last look.

Allowances _could_ be made, she supposed. They were getting married in two days, after all.

"The sooner, the better," Mrs. Carson muttered as she went down the stairs.

**A/N- I sort of struggled with this scenario as canon. Too OOC? Wadayathink?**


End file.
